


Secrets

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: The most precious things must be kept under wraps - always.(written 28 April 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Kudos: 27





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> selenaguardi asked: Sherlolly prompt: Secrets - Thanks :-)
> 
> I apologise for the recurring theme of the HLV departure and Serbia and all that. It might change for the next few prompts but this seems to be the stage my brain has decided to set Sherlolly in at the moment! Thank you very much for the prompt and I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve done with it :)

**Secrets**

Sherlock wondered what the difference was this time. Here he was, _not_ comatose despite having downed shot after shot of some kind of Serbian spirit. _Rakija_ , it was called. _December is unbearable without this,_ his new Serbian ‘friends’ had told him as they continued to pour the rich, sweet brandy into everybody’s glasses. Perhaps it was because the weather was bitingly cold, or that it was actually rather delicious. Whatever it was, Sherlock’s body seemed to be taking it rather well - so far, at least.

The detective soon realised that the trouble with drinking, especially with company, was that it soon spiralled into very unbridled conversation. As it stood, regular conversation was painful enough. Such boorish and unnecessarily ‘open’ conversation was worse. No amount of _Rakija_ was going to make it less intolerable. Besides, it did not seem like they were going to say anything worthwhile, so there really was no point in staying.

Taking what was to be his last drink for the night, the detective wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood to leave. He was hoping to turn around and slip away when a firm hand grabbed his arm, forcing him back onto his stool. 

“Where are you going, English man?” asked one of the men as the rest of them laughed.   
“It’s late,” said Sherlock, shrugging the man’s hand off him. “I’m going back.”  
“It is not late,” said another, “You stay, you drink and you talk with us.”  
“No, thank you.”  
“We are discussing _secrets_ …” said the first man, slapping Sherlock hard on the back.

This changed the tune of things. Perhaps it was worth staying after all.

“Secrets?” asked Sherlock, eyeing the man with interest. “I am happy to discuss that.”  
“Oh, we have many here, don’t we, brothers?” exclaimed the man, only to be followed by loud hoots and cheers and the sound of glasses clinking.

It had not turned out the way Sherlock was hoping, as his initial hunch proved right. ‘Secrets’ had been exchanged for sure, just not the sort that would have helped him in his pursuit of Moriarty’s network. They had instead discussed their wives, lovers, affairs, conquests… All salacious recollections that Sherlock would much rather _not_ have heard. What was worse, they soon turned the attention to him.

“So, English man, do you have a girl back home?” asked one of the soldiers, “Or have you found yourself a lover here?”

The question caused them all to burst into loud guffaws, though the detective failed to see the humour in such a question.

“Of course, I do,” he answered, smiling in faux exuberance.  
“Well, tell us about her!” asked another soldier.  
“She’s um…she’s got short blonde hair, up to about here,” he said, gesturing to the bottom of his earlobes, “Works in a…bank, she loves tennis and um…beer…”  
“Beer!” the men cheered in unison, “Now that’s a good lover!”  
“Yes, she, uh, is…” he said, hiding his fake laugh as he sipped from his newly refilled glass.

The drunken revelry continued as Sherlock was made to offer new lies about his ‘girl back home’. Thankfully, they had reached a new point in their inebriation that allowed the detective to successfully slip away this time.

“That was an evening well-wasted,” he muttered to himself as he jiggled the key into the rickety door of his tiny house. He strode in, shutting the door carefully behind him and not bothering to turn any of the lights on. The detective made his way to what looked like a store room and locked himself in it. He reached behind a dusty shelf and fumbled around, eventually finding the tiny lever he was looking for. When that had been pulled, the entire wall of the store room shifted, creating a little doorway into a lit corridor. The detective let himself in, then shut the wall that had been his secret doorway.

It was so much warmer in here, and it was safe to have the light on too. Sherlock walked along the corridor that sloped down as it took him underground. A few doors started to emerge and when Sherlock found the one he wanted, he smiled to himself as he punched in the security code by the door and let himself in.

“Oh, you’re still up…” he said, trying his best to unwind the scarf from around his neck.   
“Mycroft’s sent me a lot of _homework_ …” came the voice of Molly Hooper, who was curled up on a tiny sofa with an open dossier of corpse photos on her lap.

The detective smirked and walked over to her. He squeezed himself on the edge of the sofa, removed the paper file and its gruesome contents from her knees and bent to kiss her.

“ _What_ have you been drinking?” she asked, chuckling as she pushed him away gently, “It tastes very sweet…and _strong_.”  
“ _Rakija_ ,” answered the detective, making sure he pronounced it properly.   
“I’m glad you made it out alive,” she said with a smirk.  
“And I’m just glad _you_ are here…” he mumbled, burying his head into her neck.   
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, kissing his hair.

Sherlock sat up and looked right at her, incredibly grateful for the fact that she was physically before him. She was in so much danger here, and yet, she had elected to follow him, to assist him in his mission. Mycroft had disagreed too, of course, fearing for her safety, but nobody said no to Molly Hooper anymore, not after everything she had done for the Holmes brothers.

“I need my brain cleansed…” he muttered, leaning in again into her.   
“Get up, you oaf…” she chuckled, as he resisted her attempts at prying him away.  
“I didn’t know there were so many ways to unhook bras…or to shag people…”  
“Welcome to the real world, Sherlock,” Molly remarked, amused.  
“Oh and just so you know… I’ve been shagging a blonde woman in London…”  
“What?” Molly asked, finally managing to manoeuvre him into an upright position.   
“Sorry…I mean…” he paused to rub his temples, “I had to lie I was shagging a girl in London…”  
“Ah, I see.” she said, taking over and gently massaging his temples.   
“Well, I can’t tell them I’m shagging you, can I…” he murmured sleepily.

Molly laughed and kissed him on the temple as she continued to soothe the migraine that she knew would plague him for a while.

“I have to keep you a secret…” he continued as he struggled to keep his heavy eyelids from falling.   
“And I appreciate that,” she said, letting his head fall onto her lap.   
“If they find out about you…you could get hurt…” he said drowsily, “I don’t want that.”  
“No, we don’t want that.” she repeated softly, gently pushing his unruly curls from his eyes.   
“You’re my favourite secret, Molly Hooper…” he murmured, “My favourite…”

Molly finally felt the full weight of him on her lap as he dropped off to sleep at last. She smiled gently to herself, her hands still gently massaging his temples.

“And you’re my favourite too, Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered, bending to kiss him softly on the cheek.

**END**


End file.
